


How Many Angels...

by ClementineStarling



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, needleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>scrap wanted "dubcon, mindfuck, needleplay" for her cardfic. So that's what this is. Moderately explicit. But beware, the consent is extremely dubious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Angels...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrapbullet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/gifts).



“ _Anything_ , you said.” Blackwood's breath is so cold on Coward's burning skin, it makes him shiver. “Did you not mean it? Did you _lie_ to me?” His fingers tighten in Coward's hair, causing sparks of pain to jolt over his scalp like small bolts of lightning.

Coward wants to shake his head, but the iron grip of Blackwood's hand won't allow it.  
“No,” he whimpers, “no, I just... I didn't know.”

Blackwood's laughter rings in his ears, a thunder rumble of wickedness. “Poor, innocent boy,” he says, voice dark with amusement. “Now, what shall I do with you?”

He lets go of his hair, but Coward doesn't feel any relief, on the contrary, his stomach twists with anxiety at the prospect of what's to come. He is petrified, only his eyes move, follow Blackwood's hands as they reach for the needles.

“Please,” he murmurs, “anything, anything but this.” 

“Don't be silly. Obviously you have no idea what you're offering-- _anything_ could be so much worse.”

Blackwoods hands glide over the expanse of Coward's chest, cool and metal-strong, bronze against the creamy tenderness of his flesh, almost instruments of torture themselves. Coward's head spins as he watches these hands pinch the skin next to his right nipple, he is so dangerously close to fainting, he must close his eyes.

“Henry, please...” His voice sounds rough, desperate in the crimson darkness behind his lids.

Blackwood pauses for a moment as if to reconsider, one moment that gives him hope. Perhaps he could – despite his earlier foolishness of giving blanket permission – still get out of this, perhaps Blackwood will show mercy, just this once. But then he only tuts, softly, like an adult would scold a small child for their immature behaviour.  
“I know you want this, Daniel,” he says. “Just look at yourself, you're positively leaking.”

And he is right, his cock stands stiff with excitement, it has not shrunken one bit since Coward realised that this encounter won't be what he's bargained for, that _anything_ will not mean being taken and used and ravished in the usual way, but violated in an entirely different manner; on the contrary, the treacherous thing twitches with delight, horror and arousal running into one. It is shameful how he cannot even disguise his eagerness, how his body betrays it so clearly by the constant flow of precum dribbling from his slit. 

Henry is right, he _must _want this.__

__The realisation is even worse than his fear of the torture to come._ _

__He opens his eyes, ready to witness his own desecration, just in time to see the needle slip under his skin without any effort. He holds his breath, but to his surprise it hurts less than he thought, or maybe he just did not expect the pain to mingle with the pleasure so readily, become indistinguishable sensation, a flood of stimulation that is dancing on his skin. The next needle prick is almost a relief of this unbearable tension; it allows him to focus for a second until the roundel of nerves begins again._ _

__How sick he must be to enjoy this, he thinks and bites his tongues, grinds his teeth, prays for countenance and fails miserably. It's already at the next sting that he cannot suppress a moan to fill his mouth, to escape into the grave-quiet of the room, for Blackwood to hear and to register, and Coward can practically sense his smugness as he leans closer._ _

__“Didn't I tell you, you'd like it,” he says, and it's not a question. Of course he knew. He always knows Coward's mind better than he does himself, sees him for what he truly is, while Coward still tries to hide behind morals and manners, too weak to admit the truth._ _

__“How many more?” he whispers, moans, irredeemable wanton that he is. It is, without doubt, a plea, but whether for this to end or to continue, he could not say._ _

“Ah, Daniel,” Blackwood chuckles, “I would not want to spoil the surprise. Besides, wouldn't _where_ be the more interesting question?” 


End file.
